


Labs In Low Lighting And Flowers In His Breath

by AzureNight



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, hanahaki, slight blood warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-08-01 03:03:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16276574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureNight/pseuds/AzureNight
Summary: It had been fifteen days since Template last saw Ink, fourteen days since Template had run to Dream to try and do something about his hanahaki, eight since Nightmare had gotten involved, and one since he’d given up.Nothing worked.





	Labs In Low Lighting And Flowers In His Breath

**Author's Note:**

> So a quick thing to note is that this work was inspired by tempinksailblog on tumblr's drabble, Poisoned Petals, which is a work of art that I highly encourage you to look at, as it features a steady stream of Tempink content, and masterpieces of both literary and artsy nature made by the talented mods on there.
> 
> Poisoned Petals: https://tempinksailblog.tumblr.com/post/178929730224/im-all-for-the-angst-and-i-love-it-when-people

“Temp? Tempo? Template, come on, I know you’re in here this isn’t a game of hide and seek ya know,” Ink calls out, looking around. The house is, for the most part, neat, everything not an inch out of place, which is normal, Ink expects this. What is not normal is how quiet the house is. There should be some sort of music playing, whatever genre Template’s obsessed with this week, or a documentary series that Template is hyper-fixated on right now and will be for the next few days until he forgets about it entirely.

Yet only silence greets him. Template could be out, perhaps, Ink reasons to himself, though the idea is immediately dismissed on the grounds of Template never having forgotten ever before. An emergency, perhaps? Though for the life of him Ink can’t figure out what this emergency might be.

“Template!” Ink shouts, loud enough that it should wake Template if he were sleeping at this particular time - 1pm - for whatever reason, though still no reply.

Okay, Tempo isn’t in. Then where is he? There are a few places that come to mind, one being Template’s ‘sphere, the other Pale’s house, though really Pale and Dream’s house because Dream practically lives there.

Ink shrugs, no harm can come from checking those two places, and a mental coin flip has him visiting Template’s ‘sphere first. It’s a rather boring space, white all round, an empty AU that makes Ink shiver, craving company; various projects decorate the space, some hung on walls, though most strewn haphazardly around the floor. The house is visible in the distance, though only just. It’s a long, long way away from the project space.

Still no Template though. Surprising, that Template wouldn’t tell him where he was, considering his borderline hero worship of Ink. Pale’s house was up next, hopefully there he’d have some company to quell the unpleasant sensation of fear running down his spine. Interesting he could be fearful when emotionless.

A snap of his fingers and he’s standing in front of a plain looking door, with a cheesy “Welcome!” mat under his feet. He would knock, but the door is ajar - not smart considering there are multiple people living in the Omega Timeline where this house is situated - so he slips inside quietly, making sure the door is closed shut behind him, all without making a sound.

He can hear voices coming from the main room, just a few steps down the corridor and round a corner to the left, and yes, that is definitely Template’s voice. And Dream and Nightmare's voices too, for whatever reason, not that Ink can find one for the guardian of negativity being in this house. Intrigued, and fully aware that for the two guardians to be present and conversing civilly, it’s probably something important and relating to Template and as such won’t let him know should he announce his presence, he walks the few steps to the corner, as to be just out of sight of the three, and listens.

“I’m not sure. I don’t know how they work, and even if I did there’s no reason for me to help you. Unless you provide an incentive, of course.”

That’s Nightmare, clearly trying to get something out of the two others present in the room, and not going about it very subtly. Then of course, he’s also playing the pronoun game which really doesn’t help Ink understand what on earth it is they’re talking about.

“Nightmare.”

A sharp reprimand in a single word, Ink knows it's accompanied by a protective glare from Dream. For that tone of voice to be used, Template has to be desperate, and probably really needs whatever it was Nightmare can, but doesn’t want to, provide.

“Please?”

Template sounds unusually desperate. If he'd not been soulless, Ink might have frowned at this, concerned for his friend who was, apparently, at Nightmare’s mercy. As it is, he simply listens on, curious as to where this is going.

“Mixing emotions like this is a very bad idea. Only Ink knows how these work and for all we know the place could blow up,” Nightmare complains.

Only I know how what works though? Ink wonders. He can take a good guess, considering they’ve mentioned mixing emotions, though he can wait a little longer and find out for sure what it was they’re talking about. Though why they would be talking about those he had no idea. He needs more context.

“We have to try,” Dream argued, “I’m not willing to let Temp die without trying to do something to help!”

That is plenty of context. It seemed Template lied about the promise he'd made last night, when he'd coughed up the petals, and had promised Ink that it wasn't him, and Ink almost feels bad for dismissing the thought so readily earlier, knowing that Template must have been hurt by it.

Ink shoves his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, that, for once, he’s wearing, and sighs internally. He doesn’t particularly want Template to die, he's interesting and fun, but then again, if his suspicions are correct, Nightmare, Dream, and Template are currently trying to cook up a love vial for him, which he has zero intention of taking. Ever.

He isn’t bothered with snapping his fingers as he wordlessly and silently teleports back to his house in the Doodlesphere, the snapping is mostly for show anyways, and notes that his vials are missing from where he put them last night. Dream probably has them. He can always just ask for them back later, it isn’t that big of a deal.

Though what he’s going to do about Template, that’s a pressing issue. And one he needs to answer fast, if the number of petals that had been coughed up last night are any indicator. What can he do, short of taking the vial? Make Template fall for someone else? That’s not up to him, if anything Dream should be doing that, with his aura, Ink is relatively sure Dream could do that.

This is all so confusing.

-

It had been fifteen days since Template last saw Ink, fourteen days since Template had run to Dream to try and do something about his hanahaki, eight since Nightmare had gotten involved, and one since he’d given up.

Nothing worked.

Nightmare, surprisingly invested in this, had tried every possible combination he could think of that might make the correct emotion, already a quasi-expert on this despite only having been studying the vials for a few days. He’d spent days holed up in the makeshift lab that Dream and Pale had put together, while Dream, Pale and Template busied themselves attempting to keep up with him - impossible - trying to act as his lab assistant - also impossible - and eventually leaving Nightmare be, trying to distract themselves and stay optimistic.

They watched MTT and NTT reruns, they went to the shows live, they visited their other friends and had fun, and there was never a shortage of AUs to visit, yet still, despite Dream and Pale’s best efforts, Template was struggling to see how this could turn out well.

“Don’t worry, just trust in Nightmare’s ability to do this.”

“Everything will be alright, just you wait.”

“This won’t last forever.”

Meaningless platitudes were all he was given, as he continued to cough more and more petals, and more and more blood came with them every time, and the vines started to wrap around his ribcage. Soon the roots would grow in. After that, game over.

Surprisingly, the one he found himself conversing with the most of the three people in on this was Nightmare. Template could tell Nightmare was getting frustrated by the failures upon failures that only seemed to be stacking up, but still, he kept persevering, his genius mind thinking up various ways to solve so and so problem with the imbalance in emotions, how he was absolutely sure there were a few negative emotions in love, just to balance it out, [and, for himself, to prove that his aura was good for something].

Nightmare would often ramble for hours, about his team, which he pretended not to care for but Template could see the underlying affection in his single cyan eye when he talked of them, about Dream, and how annoying it was that Dream absolutely refused the adding of even trace amounts of negativity into the vial because he was the genius here and he knew there had to be some, or the formula wouldn’t work, about the science behind it all, and often, Template was left in the dust when Nightmare talked, because while Template may have though a mile a minute, Nightmare was thinking at twice that speed.

He didn’t mind it though. Watching Nightmare ramble on about his work - both the nefarious an scientific kind - was nice, it gave Template a break from his life, and Nightmare looked adorable in low lights, when he let his guard down and the corruption faded, and he talked about this or that new development in brain surgery, or the latest discovery in quantum physics, and how it proved all his hypotheses to be correct, or the latest antics that his team had gotten into that he was going to scold them for once he got this done and Template was going to live.

Template could have said that he was closer to Nightmare than to Dream - one of which he’d known for just over a week and the other for a few months respectively - and have it be the truth. Nightmare didn’t coddle him, didn’t tell him that everything was going to work out; he did rather the opposite sometimes, when he was in a bad mood, citing the low chances of Template surviving, though he always apologised and made it up with a few cookies that he nicked from Horror, which were truly to die for, despite what Dream said about using jokes concerning one’s death.

And for all of ten days, Template was the happiest he’d ever been.

-

Eighteen days since Template has last seen Ink, seventeen since he ran to Dream for help, elven days after Nightmare was brought in to help, and four days after Template has given up, something happens.

Something finally does right.

“I’ve got it,” Nightmare says out of the blue. He’s been talking at Template as Template nods with a smile on his face, uncomprehending, when suddenly something clicks.

It’s not the first time he’s said it, and all the other times he’s been wrong, but there is something different about this time. There’s a spark in Nightmare’s eyes. Conviction.

“Temp I’ll be right back,” he says, already half-running to the lab he’s hardly been out of for the past few days. Template follows, at a more sedate pace however, unwilling to get his hopes up. He trusts Nightmare, he really does, but there are vines wrapped around his upper ribcage.

[Dream swears there should be more, passes it off as a lucky case. Pale agrees. Template doesn’t know what to think. And Nightmare is contemplative.]

Template waits outside the lab. He wants to enter, of course he does, he’s always been curious, but the last few weeks have been draining and he doesn’t want to be there to see Nightmare’s face fall. It always makes him sad when Nightmare is too, Nightmare looks so much younger when he’s happy. His smile is beautiful. That smile should always be there.

Cautiously, and slowly enough that if Nightmare has decided to position himself against the door he will have time to move away or take his experiment to another section of the lab when he realises someone is trying to come in, the door is opened, and Template steps in.

The lab is dark, the lights are out, making him strain his eyes, though Nightmare, with his eye glowing a sharp cyan, clearly isn’t bothered by this fact. He’s hunched over a conical flask, containing a pearly grey substance, and around him, used pipettes are scattered along the workbench and the floor. Template can count five underfoot with a single glance, and all of them have trace remains of Ink’s bottled emotions.

“I’ve…” Nightmare starts to whisper, but trails off, and Template braces for the fall, for the frustration at his failed experiment, for the anger at himself for failing, but it never comes. Instead, a laugh. A genuine, delighted, giddy laugh, that makes Template want to smile too, because it just seems contagious.

“I’ve done it,” Nightmare whispers, repeating those three words like a mantra, as a hysterical giggle bubbles in his throat. “Template I’ve- you’re going to be alright. You’re going to be alright.”

It’s been four days since Template last smiled so widely. It’s been an eternity since he cried from happiness. He can’t help it, he breaks down in sobs, hugging Nightmare, repeating thanks over and over, shaking. The vines in his ribcage don’t feel so heavy now.

Nightmare hugs him back, unsteady himself from the shock, and if you’d asked him in the moment why there were tears of joy pooling at the corners of his eyes he’d have told you it was because he’d completed his objective, and you’d have easily detected the lie.

-

“Ink, how much do you care for Template?” Dream asks.

“I can’t. I don’t have a soul,” Ink replies.

“Yes, okay, but say you did, and you had a way to do it, would you do it?” Dream asks.

“Dream, what’s this about?” Ink asks in turn.

“Template’s got hanahaki. For you. We made a vial for love that you can use-” Dream gets cut off.

“No.” Ink’s tone is final.

“But, but then-” Dream is cut off yet again.

“-He’ll die. I know. I don’t care. I can’t care, Dream. He’s fun is about as much as I can manage. I don’t fall in love with just entertainment.” Ink sounds tired.

-

He’ll die. I know. I don’t care. The phrase ran through Dream’s head on a loop, and he found himself unable to stop it, no matter how much he wanted it to stop, and he wanted to forget the conversation ever happened, and celebrate with Template and Pale that Template was going to live and everything was going to work out.

He didn’t think he’d be able to look Template in the eye as he told him.

Hesitantly, he picked up his phone. Template’s wasn’t with him at this time, he’d be able to leave a voicemail and not have to interact personally and hear Template's cries when he found out. He didn’t want to see one of his closest friend’s face fall as he was told he was going to die.

“Hey Template, it’s Dream. The vial that Nightmare made is right, by the way, Ink told me earlier that we did a great job on it. If he drank it it would be super authentic and mimic proper love, so well done on that.

“Apparently the colour, the light greyish one, puts Ink off a bit, I mean I have to agree with him it’s uh, not a very nice colour to be honest.

“But I- I’m stalling for time. I… I’m so sorry Template. Ink refuses to take the vial. He doesn’t want to be in love with anyone.”

The voicemail cut off there. What else was there to say?

“I’m sorry,” he said again, out loud. His voice was hoarse, and when a tear slid down his cheek, he didn’t wipe it away.

“I’m so sorry.”

-

Nightmare is bored when he walks into Pale and Dream’s house, having nothing to do for the afternoon but kick kittens around, and preferring to so something slightly more intellectual, he ends up heading over here. He may even see Template again, which would be pleasant - they’ve not spoken since the vial was completed, which is something he really needs to rectify, as Nightmare had paperwork to catch up on, and Template was out with Dream and Pale celebrating [and probably getting drunk].

The kitchen counter is a mess, filled with cake baking supplies and popped part poppers and the like, leading him to believe they weren’t counting how many glasses of wine they were drinking. No matter, because he can see Template’s phone right in front of him, which isn’t quite what he came here for - he would have preferred Template himself - but the phone has games on it and he has time to kill, and Template is bound to come back here anyway.

The notifications show one voicemail from Dream, which is none of his business really, but Dream is currently in the house telling him Template was meant to bring his phone with him wherever he was, and his forgetting merits punishment in the form of him snooping on their conversations. Who knows, the material may even be blackmail worthy.

“Hey Template, it’s Dream…”

The voicemail ends and Nightmare drops the phone. It clatters to the floor, and it's louder than he expected it to, and the sound rings in his ears, and his soul is beating fast. There is horror running through his veins and he staggers back as if he has been physically hit, because Template, kind, sweet, lovable Template cannot die, he is not allowed to die-

Nightmare coughs, tar coming out, the corruption suddenly overwhelming in how it covers him completely, and he coughs more, the tar that clings to him so often so comfortably now more a burden than anything, and he makes it go away by force, leaving him reeling, kneeled on the floor.

“Nightmare?” Dream’s voice is breathy and quiet and there is terror in his eyes, as he looks at his brother, hunched over with a hand to his mouth, tar dripping through them like blood.

“Please, Nightmare you can’t have hanahaki too,” Dream says, and he looks ready to cry when Nightmare takes away his hand and reveals no petals there.

“I’m fine,” Nightmare croaks out, throat sore from the corruption, “I’m just… Scared. Shocked. Angry. I can’t- please Dream I can’t lose Template. It’s not fair, Template never deserved to die.”

Dream's face falls as he looks at the phone and puts two and two together, unsure of what to say.

“Life isn’t fair, Nightmare,” Dream says gently, rubbing Nightmare’s back soothingly and hugging him tight, “we have to tell him somehow, it would be cruel to let him think he’ll live when-”

“Please don’t say it,” Nightmare says quietly. Dream nods. This much he can do.

They stay there for some time.

-

“Template?” Ink asked.

“Oh, hey Ink. How’s it going?” Template sounded friendly.

“Good, kinda. How are you feeling?” It was as he said it that Ink realised his mistake.

“I’ve been better. But you know, I’ll live to see tomorrow.” Template sounded nonchalant. Ink was willing to bet there were a lot of emotions hidden under that nonchalance.

“That’s good. See you around I guess?” Ink said, unsure.

Template nodded. “Goodbye.”

-

There were vines in Template’s ribs, a week ago. There were petals every hour, white at origin, though stained crimson by blood. The roots could have set in at any time.

The vines are falling out. Template looks in the mirror and he could cry. There are scars, so many scars, winding around his bones that reach from the bottom of his ribcage up to his neck in an intricate pattern, unlikely to ever fade, but the vines are dying and falling out.

There’s a knock on his door. It’s familiar, quiet yet insistent, and Template calls out for Nightmare to come in. The dark aura floods his room, dark and heavy like velvet, and he drinks it in.

“Template…” Nightmare says, gazing over his ribcage, eyes wide and gleaming with tears.

“They’re falling out,” Template agrees, though Nightmare never said anything he might be able to agree to.

Nightmare says nothing as he hugs Template tight, fingers tracing the patterns the scars form with reverence, as if the sight before him is incomprehensible. “You’re going to be alright,” he says quietly, repeating what he said in his darkened lab what seems like so many years ago, yet now in a darkened room, and Template’s smile is worth the universe.

“I’m going to be alright,” he repeats, taking Nightmare’s hands in his own, “I’m going to be alright.”

There are unshed tears glistening in Nightmare’s eyes, and this time, were you to ask him why he was about to cry, he would offer no excuses.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” one of them whispers.

And it ends with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> One last quick note before you go! I hope you enjoyed this, if you did, the talented Mod Taco on tempinksailblog actually wrote a continuation of this, which you should totally check out.
> 
> Have a nice day!
> 
> Continuation: https://tempinksailblog.tumblr.com/post/178960763667/im-all-for-the-angst-and-i-love-it-when-people


End file.
